It Can Be Done Part 46

ODE TO DUTY

In the first stanza the poet hails duty as coming from G.o.d. It is a light to guide us and a rod to check. To obey it does not lead to victory; to obey it _is_ victory--is to live by a high, n.o.ble law. In the second stanza he admits that some people do right without driving themselves to it--do it by instinct and "the genial sense of youth." In stanza 3 he looks forward to a time when all people will be thus blessed, but he thinks that as yet it is unsafe for most of us to lose touch completely with stern, commanding duty. In stanzas 4 and 5 he states that he himself has been too impatient of control, has wearied himself by changing from one desire to another, and now wishes to regulate his life by some great abiding principle. In stanza 6 he declares that duty, though stern, is benignant; the flowers bloom in obedience to it, and the stars keep their places. In the final stanza he dedicates his life to its service.

Stern Daughter of the Voice of G.o.d!

O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove; Thou who art victory and law When empty terrors overawe; From vain temptations dost set free, And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!

There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them; who, in love and truth Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth: Glad hearts! without reproach or blot, Who do thy work, and know it not: Oh! if through confidence misplaced They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.

Serene will be our days and bright And happy will our nature be When love is an unerring light, And joy its own security.

And they a blissful course may hold Ev'n now, who, not unwisely bold, Live in the spirit of this creed; Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.

I, loving freedom, and untried, No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust: And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferr'd The task, in smoother walks to stray; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

Through no disturbance of my soul Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control, But in the quietness of thought: Me this uncharter'd freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance-desires: My hopes no more must change their name; I long for a repose that ever is the same.

Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear The G.o.dhead's most benignant grace, Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face; Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, And fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong; And the most ancient Heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.

To humbler functions, awful Power!

I call thee: I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour; Oh let my weakness have an end!

Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give; And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live.

_William Wordsworth._

THE SYNDICATED SMILE

A ready and sincere friendliness is the one thing we can show to every human being, whether we know him or not. The world is full of perplexed and lonely people whom even a smile or a kind look will help. Yet that which is so easy to give we too often reserve for a few, and those perhaps the least appreciative.

I knew a girl who had a beau And his name wasn't Adams-- No child of hers would ever call The present writer "daddums."

I didn't love the girl, but still I found her most beguiling; And so did all the other chaps-- She did it with her smiling.

"I'm not a one-man girl," she said-- "Of smiles my beau first took his; But some are left; I'll syndicate And pa.s.s them round like cookies."

That syndicated smile!

When trouble seemed the most in style, It heartened us-- That indicated, Syndicated Smile.

It's not enough to please your boss Or fawn round folks with bankrolls; Be just as friendly to the guys Whose homespun round their shank rolls.

The best investment in the world Is goodwill, twenty carat; It costs you nothing, brings returns; So get yours out and air it.

A n.i.g.g.ard of good nature cheats Himself and wrongs his fellows.

You'd serve mankind? Then be less close With friendly nods and h.e.l.loes.

The syndicated smile!

If you have kept it all the while, You've vindicated The indicated, Syndicated Smile.

_St. Clair Adams._

FAIRY SONG

The great beneficent forces of life are not exhausted when once used, but are recurrent. The sun rises afresh each new day. Once a year the springtime returns and "G.o.d renews His ancient rapture." So it is with our joys. They do not stay by us constantly; they pa.s.s from us and are gone; but we need not trouble ourselves--they are sure to come back.

Shed no tear! O shed no tear!

The flower will bloom another year.

Weep no more! O weep no more!

Young buds sleep in the root's white core.

Dry your eyes! O dry your eyes, For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies-- Shed no tear.

Overhead! look overhead, 'Mong the blossoms white and red-- Look up, look up--I flutter now On this flush pomegranate bough.

See me! 'tis this silvery bill Ever cures the good man's ill.

Shed no tear! O shed no tear!

The flowers will bloom another year.

Adieu, adieu--I fly, adieu, I vanish in the heaven's blue-- Adieu, adieu!

_John Keats._

PRAISE THE GENEROUS G.o.dS FOR GIVING

Some of us find joy in toil, some in art, some in the open air and the suns.h.i.+ne. All of us find it in simply being alive. Life is the gift no creature in his right mind would part with. As Milton asks,

"For who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, These thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night, Devoid of sense and motion?"

Praise the generous G.o.ds for giving In a world of wrath and strife, With a little time for living, Unto all the joy of life.

At whatever source we drink it, Art or love or faith or wine, In whatever terms we think it, It is common and divine.

Praise the high G.o.ds, for in giving This to man, and this alone, They have made his chance of living s.h.i.+ne the equal of their own.

_William Ernest Henley._